


Riding Shotgun

by CatBones



Category: Metallica
Genre: Anal Sex, Cumshot, Hand Jobs, Happy 420 y'all, James and Jason get high, M/M, Quickies, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Weed Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23778448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatBones/pseuds/CatBones
Summary: James doesn't know how to shotgun smoke. Jason fixes that.(And it all goes downhill from there).
Relationships: James Hetfield/Jason Newsted
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	Riding Shotgun

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (belated) 420. Turns out if you have a lot of weed and free time, you can get tonnes of writing done. Jason is my favourite stoner bassist so, naturally, I had to celebrate by writing porn. This takes place during the Monsters of Rock '88 Tour and I apologise to any Van Halen/Scorpions/Dokken fans for the cutting comments (But I will never apologise for ripping on Kingdom Come).
> 
> Enjoy.

“So, has the Mighty Het come from on high to mingle with the commoners?”

The smoke rolls off the bassist’s tongue with his words and James can’t help but notice that the way the little wisps frame his face is absolutely gorgeous. There’s a distant look in Jason’s eyes, half-lidded and glassy, but the redness only makes the blue of his irises pop more—even in the dim light—and James swallows nervously.

“It got too stuffy in there, I needed a breather,” James lies with a sideways glance as he joins his bandmate in leaning over the balcony railing, trying his hardest not to betray the fact that he’s indeed been looking for him all along. It’s been a while since either of them had the opportunity to stare out at the LA Skyline, being on the festival run and all, and James scans the horizon trying to find his old high school, his old house, his old ghosts of the past. Holding the warm night air in his lungs, he lets his leather jacket sag down his shoulders as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Besides, I can only handle the guys from Scorpions and Dokken for so long before I want to rip their skulls through their hairsprayed asses. It’s beyond me how Lars and Kirk can put up with them.”

Jason bubbles out a laugh, all nasally and warm as he flicks ash from the end of the joint.

“Why do you think I’m out here and not back in there?”  
“You got the right idea. They make me wanna commit fuckin’ homicide.”  
“Only four more shows, man, then we get to go back home and drop the new album.”  
“I know. It can’t come quick enough. I’m gonna fuckin’ kill someone if I have to hang around _Van Hagar_ any longer than I need to.”

Jason starts humming the intro to _The Frayed Ends of Sanity_ and the blond gives him a playful shove, snorting as he laughs. They go back to losing themselves in the sight of the city lights and the cherry on the joint crackles as the bassist takes another hit. The view from the hotel rooftop is admittedly beautiful and, thankfully, they’re the only ones there.

“Seriously, though,” James admits and there’s a certain softness to his voice that makes Jason turn his head. Vulnerability isn’t something Hetfield is known for and witnessing this moment takes priority over any scenic view the Los Angeles skyline could ever offer. “I don’t know how you’re feeling, but this has just been an enormous Van Halen wankfest since day one. Having our audio cut during _Whiplash_ today because of the seats and barricades being torn up was a load of horseshit. Like, whose big fuckin’ idea was it to put zip-tied seats in the pit? I don’t know a single fucker who wants to _sit_ at a show. If the concert promoter had been there, I swear to god, I would have strangled the shit outta him,” James fumes and Jason can hear his hands squeaking lightly on the metal rail as he throttles it.  
  
“Yeah. The barricade shit was wild, man,” the bassist coughs through another hit.  
“Not to mention the food fights that happen, like, _every_ fuckin’ show between sets,” the singer carries on. He’s not done yet. “All of the equipment malfunctions, _Van Hagar_ being late for their set every fuckin’ night, Scorpions groupies stealing our booze, shit like that. This tour is cursed, man.”  
“It’s almost over, Het.”  
“I know, I know. Honestly, the worst part is being on the same bill as _Kingdom Clone._ ”

Jason provides nothing past an agreeable hum and a smile as he brings the joint up to his lips and puffs. On the exhale, he offers it to James, who just scrunches his mouth to one side of his face and narrows his eyes.

“It’ll help you wind down,” Jason assures when he senses apprehension. “You’re a fuckin’ mess, man.”  
“I dunno. I always end up smoking too much and freaking out.”  
“Take one hit and see, then?”  
“Still.”  
“ _Fuckit_ , I’ll shotgun it to you if you want.”

The blond raises an eyebrow and Jason can only respond with the shake of his head and a fleeting laugh. He straightens his posture and smiles, flipping his ponytail back because the shifting wind keeps blowing it in his eyes and the way that he tosses his head catches James’s attention. The bassist rests an elbow on the railing, props his chin on a fist, and gives him nothing more than a smarmy grin under half-baked eyes.

“You don’t know how to shotgun smoke?” the older teases.  
“Does it involve using your ass as target practise for a twelve-gauge?”  
“Ooh, that’s exciting.”  
“Oh fuck off,” James administers another playful sock to Jason’s shoulder and the two dissolve into laughter.  
“Nah, it’s not hard. Even a country bumpkin such as yourself can do it.”  
“Says the asshole from _Michigan_.”  
“Hey man, I’m not the one who wears cowboy boots on my days off.”

It’s James’s turn to laugh now and he seizes the opportunity to take a step towards Jason, closing the gap between them. He lowers his gaze and they lock eyes for just a moment long enough to cause a swelling in his chest and Jason’s heart to flutter.

“Are you gonna stop talkin’ shit and show me how already?” James gruffs out, but the corners of his mouth upturned into the most delicate of smiles gives him away—He has the bassist right where he wants him. Jason wets his lower lip because suddenly he’s got cottonmouth; he shrugs it off as a side effect from the weed but is quick to collect his composure. It’s no biggie, _right_?

“Sure, it ain’t that hard.”  
‘’Is it anything like shotgunnin’ beers?”  
“Kinda? It’s more like I do the smoking for you and pass it off, secondhand. Think of it as a ‘contact-high plus’.”  
“And how do you do that?”

Jason’s words snag in his throat and he tries to pass it off as a cough, but James knows better. The towering blond takes one last step forwards to press their chests flush and when Jason lifts his face for their eyes to meet, James’s smile is verging on predatory. Despite the tension crystallising in his chest, Jason plays it cool, offering a nonchalant shrug and bringing the joint up to his lips.

“I take a hit. I put my mouth on yours and pass it off to you. You inhale. It’s simple, really.”  
“Then less talking, more shotgunnin’.”  
“Whatever you say, Hoss.”

James watches the cherry on the joint spark as Jason takes a deep inhale before he clutches the back of James’s head with his free hand and seals his lips to his, and then the taste of diesel and grass floods James’s mouth. The singer isn’t sure what fills him with electricity more—the immediate headrush that follows or the warmth of Jason’s lips as they linger on his for just a second longer than they should.

As the bassist pulls away, James holds the smoke in his lungs like a silent prayer until he hacks and lets out a sharp, rasping wheeze through his nose. It’s been a while since the last time he smoked anything, so even the secondhand variety is strong enough to weasle into his sinuses and have a heyday. His bandmate just wags an eyebrow at him and smiles as he takes another hit without so much as clearing his throat.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” Jason sounds genuinely impressed and James just shoots him a side-eyed glare between wheezes.  
“Cut me some slack, I ain’t _that_ much of a lightweight. Now do it again.”  
“Wait, _what_?”

This time it’s James who surges forwards and Jason hardly even has time enough to hit the joint again, just barely getting in a quick pull before their mouths come crashing together. Hands reel the bassist in closer with a firm grip around his skinny hips as they do it all over again. The vocalist swallows up more than just the smoke, however—when he digs his thumbs into the soft skin, Jason gasps out a moan against his lips and James swallows that up, too.

This is what he really came up to the roof for.

His head is buzzing now and he feels his muscles starting to unwind, feels his shoulders unclench and drop like loose coils while he holds in the smoke. He breaks when it’s time to breathe out, but just long enough to gulp in some air before diving back in for more.

Understandably, Jason’s head is swimming at this point; He just came up to the rooftop to smoke some pot but, well…if this is gonna happen, then he’s not about to stop Hetfield. He flicks the joint away—now burnt down to the roach—not even giving any mind to where it lands. He has more urgent matters to tend to, anyways.

They both conveniently forget that they’re supposed to break contact after shotgunning, instead continuing to press into each other until they deepen into a kiss. They test the waters—it starts out slow but builds up momentum, like an avalanche cascading down a mountain—and as they acclimate to each other’s needs they become more forwards, throwing tongues and teeth into the mix, nipping at lips, groping at each other’s bodies with hungry hands that need more.

Jason breaks for air and moves his mouth down to the pillar of James’s neck to leave a mark, pinching the sunkissed skin between his teeth and causing a delicious sound to rattle out from deep in the singer’s throat. There’s a pleasant throbbing in between James’s legs—it’s been there for some time, now—and the nipping and sucking at his neck just helps to heighten the sensation. He swears it feels like he’s walking on clouds.

Slowly, the blond trails a hand down Jason’s chest, following the gentle curve of his bandmate’s sternum down to his navel like a roadmap across his skin, then he’s dragging his fingertips down the front of his jeans, and _well, hello there_ —sure enough, Jason is just as hard as he is. When he palms at the bassist’s cock through the denim Jason lets out a stiff grunt, acknowledging the contact before moving his mouth up James’s neck to nip playfully at his lobe

“Are we gonna fuck or what?” the bassist rasps against the shell of James’s ear and the grit in his voice sends a searing heat straight to the singer’s cock.  
“I dunno, Jase, are we?”  
“ _Yeah, we’re gonna fuck_.”

They don’t waste any time; James spies a nice hip-height utility box and leads Jason over to it by the hand. As soon as the vocalist is seated and as comfy as he’ll get, his bandmate goes to work on the button of his jeans, pulling James’s hefty length through the fabric and running a tongue from base to tip. A shiver travels down the column of James’s spine and he clutches at the back of Jason’s head, twisting fingers in sandy curls as the bassist gets to work slicking up his cock. He strains against a moan as his bandmate hollows his cheeks and sinks down, coating him in a generous smattering of saliva. Before Jason has the chance to strike up a steady beat, however, James pulls him to his feet and peels his jeans down his legs before hoisting him onto his lap.

“So we’re gonna do it this way, huh?” urgency colours Jason’s voice as he gets comfortable on James’s thighs and clamps his hands down on the guitarist’s broad shoulders for support.  
“Unless you have any brilliant ideas.”  
“Nah, I like the idea of getting to bounce on your cock.”

James’s breath hitches in his throat— _god,_ he loves how forwards Jason is. Maybe it’s the weed talking, maybe it’s just Jason being Jason, but the way the older bassist always approached everything with this straightforwards no-bullshit “grab life by the horns and ride” attitude just _exudes_ a special degree of quiet confidence and to James, it’s so, so horrendously _hot_.

Neither of them can hold back when James braces himself, lines his cock up with Jason’s entrance, and slides up into him. As the bassist sinks down, guided by the pressure of James’s hands around his waist, he hungrily presses his lips onto the blond’s and coaxes him out of another kiss, still unable to sate himself and in desperate need for _more._ Both men let out a breathless sigh against each other when James finally sheathes himself completely, and the pair stall for just a moment long enough to savour the high that comes right before lift-off.

 _Slowly_ —the singer starts slowly—rocking Jason back and forth on his lap and the bassist rolls into his tempo easily, never missing a beat. It’s a struggle with Jason’s jeans still around his thighs, but whatever—they’re too high, horny, and impatient to care—and they persist. They want this too badly to stop now.

James hears Jason whine out a moan when he speeds up, now gently bouncing the bassist in his lap and good fucking _god_ —Jason is _tight._ Just enough warmth and just enough friction are a match made in heaven and James clenches his jaw as he fucks into his bandmate harder, who just reciprocates by rolling his hips and matching his speed.

“ _Fuck,_ Jase…keep going like this…and I’m...,” James whimpers against Jason’s lips, fingers digging into his waist as he bucks his hips faster. Jason can’t even respond; he’s too caught up in his own personal euphoria to string even the simplest of words together as James continues to pound into his ass. He manages a weak nod despite all of the pressure that’s been building slowly and surely, and now he just needs James to pull the stopper and let it all out. He presses his forehead to James’s as they continue to ride out the storm together.

They must be on the same wavelength—they _have_ to be—because suddenly there’s fingers wrapping around Jason’s cock, head swollen and glistening with precum, and he chokes back a whine as James hastily pumps him. Between the hand on his cock and the cock in his ass, it’s all Jason can do to keep from falling to bits then and there. James is phenomenal at keeping time and it shows—judging by the way Jason’s head is now tossed back, eyes pinched shut, and chest swelling with each rapidly quickening breath, the vocalist is doing more than just a great job at delivering the goods.

As Jason gets closer and closer, James takes the hem of his own shirt and clenches it between his teeth because the last thing he needs is having to make the walk of shame back to their room with spunk splattered across it. When the bassist cracks an eye open and realises this, just the sight alone of the vocalist’s trim waist is enough to send Jason into a tailspin. As the fabric is hitched up, he entertains the thought of painting the smooth stretch of skin with his own cum and he pinches his lip between his teeth to stifle the noises threatening to spill out.

This fantasy soon becomes reality, however, when he feels James corkscrewing his hand down his shaft, giving each pump a good twist and _holy fuck_. He lets his shoulders drop as he bucks into the motions, practically fucking James’s hand as James fucks _him,_ and he’s close, close, _so fucking close_ and when James growls out a _that’s it, Jase, cum for me,_ is when the stopper is finally pulled and Jason completely unloads.

He leans in and buries his face in the crook of James’s neck as the blond wrenches an orgasm out of him. Everything culminates in a beautiful crescendo as Jason shudders through his climax, arching his back and plastering thick ropes of cum all over the vocalist’s belly. The pulsing sensation around James’s cock as the bassist totally unravels is just enough to tip the scales and as if on cue, James pulls him down and grinds into him, skewering his bandmate balls-deep and spilling himself inside with a sharp snap of his hips and a low growl.

Despite the perpetual soundtrack of downtown LA and all of its noise, everything goes still and silent as the two men take a moment to just sit and _breathe_. Jason crumples into James like a ragdoll and he mouths out a _holy shit_ against James’s neck, who doesn’t even attempt to stifle his laugh. He agrees; _it was that good._

Eventually, the older musician slides off James’s lap, pulls his jeans up over his ass and straightens his posture as if nothing had happened, brushing invisible dust from the seat of his pants. James is still on the utility box with his cock out, chest heaving from the comedown and completely spent, but when Jason shoots him his signature crooked goofy grin as a way of saying _put your dick back in your pants, bro_ , James can’t help but pinch his eyes shut and let a laugh spill out. He tucks himself away, makes a half-assed attempt at smearing off the cum that’s congealed to his belly before giving up, and wobbles onto his feet. His body is still warm and buttery from the high rolling through him in waves but he’s still quick to join Jason as the bassist begins making his way across the roof and to the door.

“Feelin’ better, Het?”  
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”  
“And hey, only four more shows until we’re done,” the bassist grins.

The look Jason offers him is nothing but genuine and James does what he can to commit it to memory, keep it in his back pocket for later when he needs it most. They don’t get a lot of moments alone together on the road and, well, this might just keep him going for another four shows.

“The festival bill might be shit, but imagine if we had to headline with some fuckin’ chuckleheads like _Guns n’ Roses_.” Jason adds, almost as a ridiculous afterthought meant to lighten the mood.  
“More like _Arms n’ Needles,”_ James snorts and Jason’s laugh is infectious. “Could you imagine how much of a shitstorm that would be? I’d be surprised if they can even hold their shit together till the end of next year.”  
“Pfft. _That’ll be the fuckin’ day_.”

The door closes behind them with a soft click. From the other side, laughter like a brass bell rings down the stairwell until everything dissolves into silence once again.


End file.
